


too far to turn back

by openended



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Texts From Last Night Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>(217):  Ummmmm okay let's be incredibly straightforward. Hi there. My bed's at half capacity this evening. How'd you like to fill it up?</i>    Plans are stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too far to turn back

It was inevitable, really. She’s planning on coming up with an excuse – one that speaks to the situation’s complete unavoidability and how it is therefore in no way their fault, and probably one that cites gravity and entropy and Schrödinger’s wave function and De Broglie-Einstein relations, just to make damn sure that no one in the room has a clue what she’s talking about and will give up and assume that she’s right, as usual – as soon as she can move.

Which, right now, she can’t.

Well, technically, she _can_. It’s not a matter of restraints or broken limbs or blood loss or a good thump to the head (though that’s another thing to add to the thesis-length excuse, except it could be easily disproven). She’s made a career out of being able to move at a moment’s notice, whether it’s a senior officer barking at her to get her ass out of bed to run laps in the freezing cold or a klaxon alerting the potential end of the world.

Sure, Jack’s lying partly on top of her, but she’s had to move bigger things off of her before without much problem. That’s not the issue. She’d wake him up in the process, but that’s not really the issue either.

She doesn’t _want_ to move. It’s comfortable in this bed, under the covers and in his arms (and she’s not a sap, not ever, so that bit is never going to see the light of day). And there’s a pleasant hum coursing through her body, a mild buzz left from their earlier activities that won’t quite settle down enough to let her sleep. If she wanted to sleep, which she doesn’t, because figuring out how to explain this situation to anyone (nevermind that it doesn’t have to be explained anymore, there are papers on the kitchen table that see to that very plainly in black and white, complete with a signature in ink) seems to be far more important than sleep.

“Stop thinking,” he mumbles into her shoulder, obviously having the exact opposite opinion about things and not actually being asleep at all.

She’s about to argue, and even has her mouth open to make some sort of habitual argument against the very thing that’s just happened, but he kisses her. She lets out a small squeak (something else that won’t see the light of day, ever) at the sudden change in her plans but, as he sucks on her bottom lip, thinks that maybe this change in plan is okay.

Yes.

Kissing is much better than thinking.

Sleeping together is way better than sleeping alone.

And – _oh_ – fingers between her thighs and lips on her neck are a great improvement over sleeping.

Plans are stupid.


End file.
